Mitsukai no Yoru
by C. Hawthorne
Summary: "Damn you. Damn you back to hell."


Author's Note: **All right, SW here. I've decided that I'm going to write a new IchiRuki fanfic, one that still centers around Shinigami but has a different plot-line than that of the anime/manga version. This is for my best friend seccaberry, possibly the biggest IchiRuki fangirl there is (other than myself), and I hope everyone likes it. I might also add some of my original characters to this - don't worry, no Mary Sues here. I'd really like some reviews, because it makes me sad to see a story with none because everyone's being selfish. If you like the story, show it some love! Well, I've rated this T because most of my stories are, so um... I hope you like it. **

_Prologue: _Your Life and Mine 

* * *

Ichigo's grip tightened on the small plastic bag holding his belongings, the jagged cut on his upper arm pulsating with blood. The shrill office phones drove hammers through his skull as he tried not to scream at the environmental stimuli, and his expression was black. The orange hair that fell untidily around this face was saturated with blood and the amber eyes were brooding. This young man had surfaced from one of many afternoon street brawls, often sparked by the cultural unpopularity of his hair color. The bastards that had fueled the angry fire had gotten away with it, despite the efforts of both Ichigo and his friend Chad, who was brawnier than him but more solemn, reserved.

His jaw tightened as one of the lights flickered off, realizing they must be turning them down for the patients. Ichigo's stay had been brief; a pair of brass knuckles jamming his head had resulted in a minor concussion that throbbed every once in while but wasn't something to complain about. They'd wrapped his head in starchy gauze for a day or two since the blood had refused to clot, stubborn as the man it inhabited.

The redhead resisted his urge to smash the vase behind him by sinking his teeth deep into his bottom lip. Tasting the salty crimson liquid that seeped out caused battle-hardened fingers to clench tighter on the bag of toiletries. Lately there had been an underlying anger to everything he did, a dash of gasoline that would erupt with even the slightest ember of irritation. His father didn't understand it because he had no problem being endlessly cheerful with no visible interruptions, even in times of distress he was optimistic. This was why his son avoided him.

Today was the day he left and returned home to his listless, humid summer life with nothing to offer but solace from school, where even more people seemed to dislike his appearance. Some of them had no reason to be so flippant - several of his enemies had wilder hair colors. As if it even mattered.

Having already been signed out of the hospital, Ichigo took his time as he descended the scarred gray staircase but a shard of broken glass caught his attention. In it Ichigo saw his doppelganger, or more accurately just a reflection.

Somewhat ocher-tinted amber eyes looked back at him from the sun-darkened face, their brows contracted in an angry scowl. This wasn't due to his mood - it was the default expression for him. His jaw was sharply squared and strong, his mouth thin but somewhat wide, the corners turned down in accordance to the look. Around his visage were the unruly spikes of natural orange hair, the reason he was here and his father's somewhat strange pride.

Ichigo sighed as familiar signs passed through his peripheral vision, knowing that his home drew closer with each step. Back to start again.

* * *

_Oh no, I see  
I spun a web, it's tangled up with me,  
And I lost my head,  
The thought of all the stupid things I said_

Kuchiki Rukia ran her hairbrush carefully through raven tresses, but the unruly volume would not step down. This hairstyle was irritating in every way possible and she had been the unfortunate one born with it. Her fingers relaxed as she placed the brush on her vanity and lifted a small barrette from the table, plain black but accented with a delicate pearl flower. Last Christmas, Nii-sama - a.k.a. Kuchiki Byakuya - presented it to her, leaving her stunned with such gratitude.

She had been told he had taken a liking to her, the one who resembled his wife, the late Lady Hisana - but was that a sufficient reason to treat her as more than a lowly girl from Rukongai? This question had burned at her throat many times she had been in his company but she had found there wasn't enough courage in the world. Maybe his kindness would be explained someday...

Rukia stood from her seat, wearing the simple white yukata she wore as often as possible. She tended to avoid clothes that were too tight or flashy, and this was the perfect opposite of both. The elfin young woman's violet eyes made their way around the room, and when she found that everything was in place her features relaxed.

A soft surge of pleasure warmed Rukia's spine as she remembered that within her SSDNOCGI - Super Secret Drawer No One Can Get Into - was her favorite sketchpad, a clean book bound in silk of the lightest blue. Chances to use it had been few and far between, since there was always training or studying to be done ... but today, her schedule was free and unencumbered.

With her behind in the chair and a stubby pencil in her fingers, Rukia frowned as she tried to think of something to draw. Sadly with such creative deprivation there came blockages, and though she knew this well she didn't want to face it. Sighing she placed the pencil on the paper and left it, opening her door for a stroll.

* * *

Author's Note: **Yes, I know it's short, but it's a prologue people! Anyway, I'm not too sure if I wanna continue, it's just that ... well, without other peoples' feedback I tend to be unmotivated. Well, this is about three days before the main storyline would take off, but remember that I'm modifying it. Reviews will get the creative thoughts rushing!**


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